


Drown Me in You

by chalantness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Rainy Smut, sometimes I like Steve's beard and this is one of those times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: “We should—dry off.”“You should probably undress me, then.”





	Drown Me in You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evanzski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanzski/gifts), [oceanicspirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanicspirit/gifts), [Swietek93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swietek93/gifts).



> evanzski and sassaspazz and I were talking about rainy kisses and of course my mind went to rainy smut.
> 
> As always, I didn't proofread this. Because I'm a mess.

“ _Shut it_ , Rogers.”

He chuckles, shaking out his damp hair as they step through the threshold into his apartment. “I didn’t say anything,” he points out, and his tone might have been innocent enough to be convincing, if not for the twitch of his lips at the corners. He’d been the one to comment on their way out from debriefing that it was supposed to rain, but she knew the walk from the Facility to his apartment wouldn’t take long. Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes at most, depending on how leisurely they made their pace. And one glance at the clear, nighttime sky had been enough to convince her to skip out on taking an umbrella. She hated having to carry the thing around if she didn’t need to, and if it started to drizzle, she wouldn’t mind.

Except, no sooner than they had started their walk, the clouds started to roll in. And it seemed as if, only minutes later, it started to drizzle.

 _Of course_.

She had turned to Steve with a narrowed eyes, a quiet warning not to comment. But, to his credit, he had simply grinned and kept his stare straight ahead, not at all bothered with the fact that it had only taken moments for the drizzle to pick up into a light, steady rainfall. Not that she’d expected anything else. He’s absolutely not the type to say the words, “I told you so,” or anything akin to the sentiment, really – and it’s something that’s somehow endearing and endlessly _frustrating_ at the same time, especially in moments like this, when he has every right to be smug. He’s too much of a damn _gentleman_ to ever point it out himself, but evidently not enough to keep his lips from tugging into that satisfied little smirk she loves.

“I can practically hear your pride inflating,” she retorts as she steps out of her boots and socks. Her hair is damp, her clothes sticking to her skin, and a shudder ripples down her spine as she shrugs out of her soaked-through hoodie and tosses it over the breakfast bar.

He chuckles, but there’s something off about it – his voice just a little too tight – that it makes her pause and glance over her shoulder.

His eyes are dark and swirling, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly as his gaze slides down her figure, then flickers back up as a drop of water rolls down her neck.

 _Oh_.

“Really?” she asks with a breathless sort of laugh, turning around to face him. His smirk tugs at the corners, her amusement – her _arousal_ – reflected in his expression. She steps toward him and his eyes meet hers, the intensity of his stare making a warmth rush to her cheeks.

One little look and she’s fucking _blushing_. Oh, she’s screwed. She’s so screwed.

He hums, sliding his hands over her hips, his thumb finding the little sliver of skin bared between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her shirt. “Yeah, _really_ ,” he answers with a squeeze of his hands, drawing her close as he dips his head, letting his lips ghost over her flushed cheek. “Guess not even a cold downpour can curb my craving for you.”

“It was not a downpour,” she scowls, and his breath is warm and tingling over her skin as he chuckles, kissing the corner of her mouth. Teasing.

“Sorry. Couldn’t tell with all of the rain coming down on us.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, though there’s not an ounce of malice in her tone, not even to her own ears.

She feels his lips curve against her skin. “Is that an insult?” he asks, nipping at the sensitive spot under her jaw, and she onto the front of his shirt, twisting her fingers into the damp material. “Or a to-do list?”

She’d laugh – because, _fuck_ , he’s such a _dork_ – but then he’s tangling a hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head and drawing her lips to his, kissing her hard and hot and heavy. Another shudder ripples over as he licks at the seam of her lips, and she parts her mouth, letting out this little noise from the back of her throat as his tongue presses against hers. It’s disorienting, the chill of the rainwater sticking to her skin, the warmth of desire unfurling in her stomach, the coil of want tightening at the base of her spine. She lifts a hand, touching the damp hair at his jaw and relishing at the rough scratch of it under her fingertips. His beard is getting long again, and so is his hair, especially now, with the wet strands of it starting to fall over his forehead. She has the urge to tug at it, so she does, coming both hands into his damp hair and gripping it between her fingers, pulling a rumbling groan from his chest.

“We should—dry off,” he murmurs against her lips, his breaths short and heavy and uneven. He kisses her once, twice, three more times, then yanks his lips away.

He looks a little bit dazed, his stare clouded and searing, cutting straight through her. “You should probably undress me, then.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, tugging at his hair again, and his eyes flash as if she’s just snapped him out of his trance.

He all but tears her out of her (his) jacket, throwing it onto the floor and then grasping the hem of her shirt, and she lifts her arms, helping him pull it off and over her head. He drops that to the floor, too, and her hands come between them, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as he ducks his head and seals his lips over her neck. She tries to focus on getting his belt buckle undone, she really does, but she can’t really think of _anything_ with the way he’s teasing his tongue against the column of her throat, quickly finding her pulse and sucking.

She’s barely just gotten it undone, too, when he bats her hands away and pops the front of her jeans open. It’s kind of funny, honestly, how she’s the one stumbling and he’s the one that’s composed, when it’s usually the other way around, and a breathy laugh slips from her lips at this observation.

As if taking it as a challenge, he _growls_ against her pulse, pushes her jeans and her panties down her legs in one fluid motion. She steps out of her jeans as he guides her forward, one of his calloused, gentle hands sweeping over the curve of her ass, and then he groans, an arm winding around her and lifting her up. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to walk them into the bedroom, or at least over to the living room couch, but instead, he lays her on the floor, his wet, leather jacket sticking to her back as he sets her down on top of it. A shiver ripples over her as she very nearly moans at the fact that Steve is so turned on, so _impatient_ , that he’d rather fuck her right here on the floor than stumble their way to his bedroom.

It shouldn’t turn her on as much as it does. It _shouldn’t_.

But, _fuck_ , she loves him like this. She knows the gentleman in him wants to lay her across his bed, to be gentle. But the selfish part of him wants her right here, _right now_ , before he unravels at the seams.

She _wants_ him to be selfish with her. She fucking loves it, in fact. He always gives and gives and gives, and she loves that she’s his one selfish thing. His only impulsive need.

_His one and only._

He grasps her calf, hooks one of her legs over his shoulder as he dips his head and licks a broad stripe up her sex, low and long, flicking at her clit. She gasps, body bowing off of the floor as her nails scratch at the hardwood.

He groans at the taste of her, licking again and again, and one of her hands flies to her hair, twisting it around her fingers and tugging, needing something, _anything_ , to ground her. The cold rainwater had already left her feeling more sensitive, and the fact that he’d skipped over taking her bra off meant that the lacy material was brushing against her stiff nipples with every roll of her hips. It was a barely there sort of touch that shot straight through her, making her little bundle of nerves ache as Steve purposefully ignored it, licking at her entrance before curling his tongue inside. Her eyelids fluttered open to stare up into the dark of the room, nothing but the pitter of rain accompanying the sound of Steve’s low groans and licks.

Even when damp, his beard scratched against the inside of her thigh, prickling her skin, slowly driving her _crazy_.

And she’s so distracted by it that she very nearly keens when his lips wrap around her clit and suck harshly. She bites down on the inside of her lip, _hard_ , stifling the moans Steve is so obviously trying to pull from her throat.

He knows it, too. She feels him pause, lifting his head up, and she props herself on her elbows to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, twinkling in mischief, and her stomach flips. “You know,” he says, bringing a hand between her legs and circling slowly, lazily, around her bundle of nerves. Her lips part. “You never did apologize, you know.”

“For what?”

“For getting us caught in the rain.” He smirks. He fucking _smirks_ at her.

Rather than a burst of anger, or even a flash of irritation, she breathes out a laugh. “ _Bite me_ ,” she breathes out, and he chuckles, turning his head and actually nipping at the inside of her thigh. Then he nips higher, and higher, teasing his tongue against the indent of his teeth as he goes.

She hums, falling onto her back again as her eyes flutter closed. He drags his fingers down, through her slick sex, and pushes two of them into her as his tongue rolls over her clit, and a moan tears from her throat, echoing into the air. She feels his lips curve into a smirk, and then he’s wrapping them around her clit, curling his fingers and he sucks, gentle and firm.

Her hands fumble, one grasping at his leather jacket underneath her as her other tugs at his hair. She rolls her hips, once, twice, three times—

And then she lets out a keening moan as she unravels at the seams, quivering and breathy and uneven. He groans, the vibrations making her tingle, making her hips stutter, and he keeps lapping at her as her orgasm crashed over her. Her lungs burn and her skin feels flushed, and every little touch of him against her feels dizzying and delicious.

He curls his fingers again, making her twist, making her fucking _whine_ , and then he draws his hand and his lips away.

She can hear the soft sounds of him licking her wetness off of his fingers and it makes her squirm, the tremors of her high still rippling over her. Then she gasps as he gently grasps her arm and draws her up. Her bones feel weightless and melted, but her muscles still feel as if they’re burning, coiled taut with the thrum of her desire. He guides her to sit up, pausing as she grasps at his shirt and brings their lips together in a sloppy, wet kiss. She can taste herself on him and it makes her shiver, makes her fist his shirt even tighter, kissing him deeper.

But then he draws away, kissing her throat before maneuvering her around and onto her knees. His palm pressing over the clasp of her bra and she sucks in a breath, bowing forward onto her forearms.

His hand comes between her legs, dipping over her sensitive folds, stroking, teasing.

He bends forward, pressing his lips to her spine, just below the clasp of her bra. “You okay?” he asks against her skin, and she knows that that’s more than one question. _Are_ _you okay with this position? Are you okay to handle this on the floor? Are you okay for another orgasm already?_

Yes, yes, _yes_.

“Fuck me,” she demands, casting a look over her shoulder. He’s still mostly dressed, his wet clothes clinging to him, his jeans and his belt undone, and she’s almost entirely naked, on her knees, the rainwater still dripping from her hair and rolling off of her body, sliding through the slickness on the inside of her thighs.

She didn’t think it was possible for her to be turned on this quickly after an orgasm, but, _fuck_. She is. She really, really is.

He’s still touching her gently, finding her clit and making her hips jump. She can come again just like this if he wanted to make her. He knows how sensitive she is, knows exactly what she needs to fall apart at his fingers, and, for a brief moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to do exactly that. She knows Steve likes to wring out every bit of pleasure that he can from her. She knows that he gives and gives before finally taking, and she loves him for it, she really does. But she doesn’t want that. Right now, she _aches,_ and she needs him inside of her.

And, as if hearing her thoughts, he pulls his hand away, and then she feels the tip of him press against her entrance. Her lips part, her hips rolling back almost on their own.

Then he pushes into her, stretching her slowly, her walls fluttering as he brushes against her sensitive folds. She’s hadn’t entirely come down from her first high, and every press of him is making her body quiver, making her clit _ache_.

Steve groans as he bottoms out, then he bends forward, his shirt tickling the skin of her back as his lips fall onto her shoulder. He presses a soft, sweet kiss there, pulling out, almost all the way out, and then pressing back in. His strokes are slow at first, and she knows that’s for her sake. She can feel him quivering, muscles tense, grasping at every ounce of control he can muster. So she pushes back, meeting his thrust, making them both moan at the sudden change of angle that sinks him in even deeper, brushing against her sweet spot yet again.

“ _Fuck me_ , Steve,” she hisses, practically _pleads_ , and then he snaps his hips and makes her spine arch as she sucks in a gasp.

One of his hands tightens around her hips as his thrusts grow faster, _faster_ , as his other hand hooks over one of her legs and spreads her a little wider. She drops back onto her forearms at a particularly hard thrust, digging her nails into his leather jacket. She’s not going to be able to see him in this without thinking of him going down on her on top of it, fucking her over it. He shifts his hips and picks up his pace and she tosses her head back, letting out a moan. His lips latch onto her neck, sucking, biting down on her pulse.

Then a growl rips from his throat, and he pulls out of her, pulling his body away. She whimpers before she can catch herself, but then he’s turning her over, hooking one of her legs around his hips as he presses her back against the floor again, pressing their bodies together as he pushes into her again.

His lips find hers, kissing her, and the slow, languid press of his tongue against hers is so disorienting against the quick rhythm of his thrusts, that it makes her moan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says against their kiss, bringing a hand between them and finding her slick clit. She arches off of the floor in a gasp, digs her nails into the muscles of his back. “Don’t know if I’ll last.” He kisses her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the middle of her forehead, circling his thumb a little tighter, thrusting into her a little faster. “Don’t know how I can ever last when I’m looking at you,” he groans, and, _oh_. Her walls flutter around him, her lips parting, her entire body growing taut, and he nips at her lip. “Just _look_ at you.”

Despite his rough tone, his tight voice, there’s something so incredibly tender and gentle to his words that her eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze.

Her heart skips a beat at the look in his eyes. At the pure adoration, the pure affection.

That look alone is almost enough to make her come.

“Come with me, Nat,” he says, angling his hips, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again. Her eyes squeeze shut, her nails scratching down his back as her walls flutter, squeezing around him. He groans, and one of her hands grips onto the hair at the back of his head, dragging his lips to hers as his hips jerk, his rhythm stuttering. A few more strokes and then he’s moaning into their kiss, his body coiled tightly as his warmth spills inside of her. This strained noise comes out of the back of his throat as he gasps against her lips, but he doesn’t pull away. He keeps kissing her through it, messy and wet, the orgasm rolling over him in waves, and feeling him unravel inside her, _around her_ , tips her over the edge.

She falls apart with a cry, her body shuddering, tightening around him, until he yanks his head away a few moments later, letting them both gasp for breath.

She’s not quite sure how long it takes them to come back down, but when they do, he lifts his forehead from hers and kisses the bridge of her nose, the flushed apple of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Her heart fucking _flutters_ , and she thinks it should be ridiculous for something so innocent to make her breath catch after what they just did.

Except it doesn’t feel ridiculous. Not at all.

Eventually, Steve winds an arm around her and gathers her against his chest. She tucks her face into the curve of his neck, muffling her little mewl when he pulls out of her, and then he rolls them onto their sides, one of his hands sliding over her hip as he splays his fingers across her skin.

She scoots herself closer, letting her lips hover over his for a moment before she kisses him, soft and languid and tender. He groans softly, draws her even closer, and she hooks her legs around his hips and coils herself around his body again, kissing him deeper.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against his lips, and she feels him pause, draws back and opens her eyes to find him giving her an odd look. She grins. “For getting us caught in the rain.”

He _laughs_ , his fingers flexing at her hip. “Ah, is that why you let me fuck you against the floor?” His eyes are sparkling. “It was a peace offering?”

She smirks and shakes her head, pushing at his shoulders and rolling them over, pushing him onto his back as she straddles his hips. His thumbs stroke over the dip of her hips, his eyes tracing up her abdomen, the dip of her breasts, the curve of her lips – until his eyes meet hers again, arching an eyebrow in an unspoken question. She leans forward and kisses the corner of his lips. “No,” she says, lips quirking at the corners. “I let you fuck me into the floor so _you_ could apologize for being such a smug ass about the rain.” His chest rumbles beneath her in a chuckle, and then she dips her head, kissing at the center of his collarbone, and then lower, and lower, relishing in the way he starts to growing tense under her.

“Nat,” he breathes, his length brushing against the inside of her thigh, making her smirk as she slides herself down his body. She skims her lips over his abdomen, stopping just shy of the dip of his hips and nipping at the spot that always, _always_ makes him come when she’s got her lips around him and drags her nails across it.

His hips jerk, his hands reaching for her, cupping her jaw as she settles between his legs.

“ _This_ ,” she says, darting her tongue out to lick along the underside of his length, then flicking at his tip, “is my peace offering.” He glances down his body at her, meeting her gaze, and she grins. “And I’ll be sure to take my time with it.”

Then she wraps her lips around him, sucking, and his groan drowns out the sound of the rainfall against the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from our [rainy kisses](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/171415462286/sassaspazz-gomustanggirl16-sassaspazz) conversation.
> 
> [“Fuck you.” “Is that an insult or a to-do list?” ](https://tomskittyjamas.tumblr.com/post/167198061871/imagine-your-ship-5)
> 
> “Y’know...that’s not what an apology sounds like.” “Bite me” –prompted by swietek93


End file.
